


statistically significant (others)

by thewindwarns



Series: variations on a theme [1]
Category: The Witchlands Series - Susan Dennard
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 11:19:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17263295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewindwarns/pseuds/thewindwarns
Summary: To say that Aeduan tolerated group projects was a charitable assumption at best.  (The College!AU where Aeduan discovers that the only redeeming quality of being randomly assigned to work with Safiya and Leopold is the chance to meet Iseult.)Minor spoilers for Bloodwitch, but nothing beyond the sneak peak available on Bookishfirst





	statistically significant (others)

**i.**  
To say that Aeduan tolerated group projects was a charitable assumption at best.  He dreaded the tediousness involved: the half-hearted attempts at advanced planning (or lack thereof), the inevitable uneven division of labor, the need to grossly inflate peer evaluations when they were factored into individual grades, and the small truth that these assignments often made him feel like an _outlier_.  His reputation for being _competitive_ in the classroom probably didn’t make fitting in any easier, but he wouldn’t have made it this far -- or be on his way to graduating with highest honors in not one, but _both_ of his majors -- without harboring a certain level of ambition.

This, though, had to rank among his worst assignments in his entire educational career, due to six primary reasons:

>   1. This mandatory midterm project was for his least favorite course this semester: “Statistics for Social Scientists II: Regression.” While the content itself was interesting, and he had easily earned an A in his previous stats class, everyone would probably learn more if Professor Yotiluzzi ceased showing up to lecture entirely.  Somehow, that man managed to turn every lesson into a monologue about the accomplishments on his CV, but since participation was mandatory, and this was a required course for several departments, Aeduan and his peers were left with little choice but to reluctantly sit through story time twice a week.
> 
>   2. His randomly assigned group included Safiya fon Hasstrel, a familiar face from his other courses. He knew she was generally well-liked by the Criminology faculty and teaching assistants, despite _\-- or perhaps, because of --_ her innate ability to charm instructors even when she was very obviously derailing discussion.  (Aeduan, who always did the readings, suspected that sometimes Safiya did not.)
>   3. His other groupmate was Leopold fon Cartorra, a Poli Sci student that Aeduan had come to realize was especially susceptible to being diverted by the Domna of Distraction.
> 
>   4. Because of this dynamic, they had barely made progress reading and reviewing the assignment, outlining the requirements, and delegating tasks in the nearly _two hours_ that they’d been sitting together after class. Aeduan, however, had been productive in terms of writing and submitting reading responses for his other courses, while the other two blathered on and on about the same sleepaway camp they’d apparently attended in their misguided youth.
> 
>   5. If this combination of partners was not already designed to severely test his patience, all three balanced very busy schedules with prior commitments that could not be moved… Which meant that ultimately, they’d have to meet at less than ideal hours if they wanted to not only complete this project, but do _well_. Because Aeduan had stopped listening when his partners began discussing dress rehearsals for some production, he had unwittingly agreed to regroup three times to compare problem sets, complete their write-up, and rehearse. He did, however, pay attention when they began debating _where_ to meet since all the libraries would be closed. They eventually reached consensus on Safiya’s suite, both because of its size and central location, and because Leopold’s common room was deemed too messy, given that it was already being shared by ten suitemates. (Aeduan hadn’t bothered to offer his own place as an option, as the less they knew about him, the better.)
> 
>   6. It was currently Thursday afternoon, and their presentation was _next_ Thursday afternoon, which meant he had a _week_ of filtering through what he knew would be a deluge of superfluous emails and group texts. So, before they split up, he made sure both Leopold and Safiya were very aware of the consequences should they call him for any reason other than illness, death, or natural disaster preventing them from being punctual.
> 
> 


 

//////////

 

 **ii.**  
By the time Aeduan leaves the library and walks into their three-bedroom apartment, he’s entirely too exhausted to take his usual spot at the taro table.  (Based on the dwindling stack of chocolate coins his roommates were betting with, and the observation that their friend Tanzi had apparently taken to watching bird videos on her phone, it appeared that the game was nearing its end.)

Instead, he sets his belongings down in his room before doubling back to the kitchen, where he knows a Combo #4 from their favorite Arithuanian takeout place is waiting for him. 

“I’m out,” he hears Kullen say, as he rises from the table to refill his glass of water.  “Aeduan, do you have another date with your books tonight?  Or are you going to help us win some of our meager savings back?”

Aeduan pauses, as if he’s genuinely considering the proposal. “Sorry, but no can do.  I have to let Fortiza win sometimes, you know.”

Ryber, who has won the hand _yet again_ , laughs rather robustly in response.  (After she had innocently suggested that the group raise the stakes with actual currency a few weeks into what became their regular game nights, he, Kullen, and Merik had all learned the hard way not to bet against her.  They were convinced she must have conspired to split the pot with Tanzi, who had conveniently stayed in her dorm that night, but indisputable evidence still eluded them.)

“Sit, Gochienka."  Ryber pats the empty chair beside her.  “We’re playing _Paladins_ next, and I want you on my team after what happened with Lazy Bug last time.”

“I heard that, Ry Ry!  Next time you ask if your boyfriend can stay over--”

Aeduan’s about to add more seasoning to his dinner plate when he hears a sudden shriek. “OW! THAT. WASN’T. TANZI!”

So, as Ryber attempts to apologize to Merik for kicking him, and Tanzi and Kullen clear the table, Aeduan – despite knowing full well that he’d be spending the rest of his weekend secluded in the computer lab – grabs their well-worn collector’s box off the bookcase and prepares himself for another long night of _Paladins_.

  

 //////////

 

 **iii.**  
Safiya’s residence hall is only a few blocks from his apartment, so Aeduan’s nearly three-quarters of the way there when he receives the text that Leopold was fifteen minutes away since the cross-campus shuttle was running behind.

As promised, Safiya’s standing outside in the courtyard, speaking to someone that suspiciously looks _and sounds_ like Merik from behind, but when Aeduan reaches the front of her entryway, she’s alone.  “It’s easier for me to wait out here for Polly, but you can sit in our suite if you want.  We’re C22, and the door’s unlocked.”

Aeduan can think of more effective uses of his time than making small talk, so he lets Safiya badge him into the entryway, and heads up the stairs.

Then, three things happen.

First, his phone rings.

Second, he pauses on the landing to switch his books from one hand to the other to more easily retrieve said phone.

Third, something unexpectedly collides into him from behind, which causes him to drop all his books _and_ his phone. And curse, very loudly.

He hears a quiet voice stammer, “I’m so s-s-orry, I didn’t see you there,” but is too busy gathering his scattered belongings and praying that his phone is still intact to identify its source.

When he finally turns around, he’s facing a young woman. He notes her large laundry basket (which he assumes had been the main culprit), her backpack bursting at the seams, and the apologetic expression on her round face, one that’s framed by chin-length hair, black as midnight.  And, of course, his thankfully undamaged phone, which rests in her outstretched hand.  He snatches it back.  (There’s a missed call from his mom, which he’ll return later.)

“Be more careful,” he says, and then, because he’s feeling _guilty_ of all things for yelling at this random student for an accident, he softens his tone.  “What floor are you on?  I’ll carry this up the rest of the way for you.”

She’s about to answer when they’re interrupted by Safiya and Leopold’s arrival.  “Oh,” the domna says, taking in the scene before her, “I see you two have met.  Iz, this is my classmate Aeduan.  Aeduan, this is my roommate Iseult.  I’m sure you’ll be seeing a lot of each other these next few days.”

 

 

 

It’s Tuesday, and they can almost _taste_ the freedom that awaits them on the other side of the next  48 hours.  While they’ve finished most of their report and slides, for whatever reason, they’ve made little progress on the one problem they need to solve in order to answer the last two questions.  He’s not sure if it’s fatigue -- all of them had other midterms to study for and papers to write and groups to lead -- but apparently, their combined intellect was simply not enough to figure out how to plot this thrice-damned graph in R.

When they’ve all agreed that they’ve reached an impasse, Leopold leaps up from the couch he’s sharing with Safiya, and announces he needs a bathroom break before exiting to the hallway.  Safiya, in turn, stands up as well, muttering something about "unleashing the secret weapon” before heading towards her room. Aeduan, however, is rooted in place, staring at his computer, willing the answer to magically appear because he would never admit defeat to Yotiluzzi.

“Mind if I take a look?”

He startles, nearly falling out of his seat. 

It’s the Nomatsi roommate.  As he wordlessly passes her his laptop, Aeduan wonders how Iseult had managed to surprise him yet _again_.  He had known last night that it would be a bad decision to pick the rocking chair where his back would be to the corridor, but his only other choice was the ridiculously enormous and uncomfortable bean bag on the other side of the room. (He had immediately eliminated sharing the couch with his partners as a remotely viable alternative, given their propensity for throwing inanimate objects at one another.)

Safiya comes back at that moment -- she was so much _louder_ , and he's convinced that he would not have missed _her_ approach – holding the remnants of the care package they had opened last night.  She reaches in and tosses him a honey cake that he easily catches, which meant at least _some_ of his normally quick reflexes were still functioning.

He turns his attention towards the sound of the opening door, and even laughs a little when a perfectly aimed honey cake hits Leopold square on the nose.  (Safiya, he had learned, played club softball as one of her many other extracurricular activities.)  Aeduan watches as Leopold retaliates by dumping an entire container of colorful, individually-wrapped Marstoki sweets over Safiya’s head, which she angrily declares is an unforgivable insult to Uncle Habim.

It’s only then, however, that he realizes Iseult has moved from behind him to the right of his chair.  (He questions whether this is a habit for her, if Safiya usually sits in this very spot while Iseult’s nose twitches in thought by her side.)

“There,” she says, and after what feels like an eternity, she hands him back his laptop. 

Aeduan stays very still, conscious of how the long sleeve of Iseult’s sweater brushes back and forth against his bare wrist as she walks them through fixing their lines of code.  He’s grateful when Safiya suddenly tackles her roommate, trapping her in a hug, because it means that there is now _distance_ between them.

“Our hero, the one and only Iseult det Midenzi! How will we mere mortals ever repay you for saving our wretched, ignorant, non-Applied Math majoring lives?”  Safiya rambles on, channeling that outlandish flourish he’s grown accustomed to from all those thrice-damned student productions he’d been forced to attend. 

(Just because his roommates had decided to fulfill their humanities requirement with a drama class instead of a history seminar like he had, didn’t mean that Aeduan had to _enjoy_ sitting through all the plays.  Especially since Merik and Kullen had taken to claiming that by dragging Aeduan along to provide “moral support,” that they were sparing him from having to “die alone in his room, assassinated by his academic rivals that had somehow learned he'd been the one to hide certain books in the library.” In his defense, it had only been that _one time_ during finals week his first semester, and his efforts had been for naught when the primary sources he needed were no longer where he’d left them in the stacks.)

He happens to look up at the precise moment when Iseult returns her roommate’s theatrics.  “It has been foretold: these three life-debts can only be repaid with three A’s in the course.”  And then, since it looks like Safiya is about to give her the equivalent of what Boots did as a puppy when he wanted to be taken on _yet_ another walk, Iseult concedes with an overly exaggerated sigh.  “Fine, if at least _one_ of you gets an A. Which at this point, I’m guessing will probably be Aeduan, though I’ve been tutoring you and Leo long enough by now that you should at least get B’s with the curve!”

Aeduan merely observes in smug silence as Safiya squeezes her roommate even tighter, and while Leopold repeatedly bows at Iseult’s feet. 

“Thank you for your mercy, Iseult.  We ask that you grace us with your presence for moments longer, to double check our work.”  Leopold slowly raises an open tin above his head. “We beseech you to accept this humble offering of homemade honey cakes as we toil to fulfill our destinies as your most favored scholars.”

Aeduan rolls his eyes, wiggling his ankles to try and relieve the sudden tension in his tired muscles.  He’s learned by now that they’ll probably joke around for another minute or two before dutifully diving back into their project, but finishing the problem set quickly meant he’d be able to spend more time on his other assignments.

Still, for the rest of the night, he glances up more than is minimally necessary whenever he hears a voice from the other side of the room. He tells himself that it’s because he’s distracted by what he sees through the large window, and _not_ because of the individual currently being swallowed up by the bean bag chair directly across from him.  And it was _definitely_ not because of the fact that after patiently answering their questions, Iseult would return to reading what he recognized as a battered paperback of _The Lament_ in traditional No’Amatsi, which just happened to be the book that launched his older sister onto the best sellers lists.

 

 

 

The night before their presentation, they’ve run through their slides, and now it’s Iseult’s turn to relentlessly bombard them with questions to practice for the Q&A tomorrow.  There’s a moment when he catches Iseult’s eyes, and they smile at one another, because apparently Safiya and Leopold s _till_ haven’t caught on that she’s asking about content they certainly wouldn’t be expected to know for this stats course. Aeduan, however, can answer some of the more difficult follow-ups, so he tries to end Safiya and Leopold’s misery when he can by providing the correct response.

They’re taking another snack break – Dalmotti food, this time – when Safiya sighs.  “I don’t know, Iseult.  Are you sure this prophecy is about us?  This quest to become top students suddenly feels very unattainable.”

“Well,” Iseult begins, “I don’t know about you all, but Nomatsi take life-debts very seriously.”

 _Da would approve of you, because that’s one of his trademark phrases._ Suddenly, all the attention shifts towards him, and Aeduan realizes he must have said those words _out loud_.

He then makes the mistake of making eye contact with _Iseult_ , of all people. “Oh,” she says, “I see it now.”

For once, Aeduan is grateful for Leopold’s presence, because he’s the one to yell, “Hey!  No cheating!  Safi and I don’t know Nomatsi!”

Aeduan lets out a sigh of relief he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.  Only one of them had understood him, and thankfully, she was back to peppering them with questions, as though nothing significant had just passed between them.

He can’t shake the feeling, however, that Safiya might know more than she’s letting on, with all those curious glances she’s been directing his way.  Particularly when Iseult returns the graded draft of his Nomatsi lit essay, which had apparently fallen out of his backpack sometime earlier, and _especially_ when she offers to read over his midterm paper before he hands it in.

 

  //////////

  

 **iv.** There were times when Aeduan’s body forced him to catch up on sleep, and today happened to be one of them. When he realizes it’s his ringtone -- and not his alarm -- that’s ending his much-needed nap, he’s already primed to be annoyed.  He fumbles for the phone on his nightstand, and can only groan when he sees the caller ID.

“You have the wrong number,” he says in greeting, calculates how quickly he can end this conversation.

“Aeduan-”

“You. Have. The. Wrong. Number. I’m hanging up now.”

“Wait! I’ve been quarantined with that flu that’s been going around campus, and you we could call if we were sick.”

His patience is spent, and Aeduan wonders if he will finally grind his molars into dust out of exasperation.  “Leopold, we finished our group project two weeks ago, and unless the syllabus has changed in the last ten seconds, the final is an in-class exam.  To be taken _individually_.  Now, I hope you feel better, but you can’t possibly have a good reason to call me.”

“What if it was to help a friend in need?”  Aeduan is about to answer that they were certainly not friends, merely strangers that had been temporarily allied in pursuit of a shared goal, but Leopold continues before he can respond. “I made a promise to Iseult, and I don’t want to let her down because of a little setback like a virus.”

Aeduan hears a thundering sneeze, and briefly wonders if this strain has evolved to the point where it can be transmitted _through_ the phone.  He supposes Leopold is interpreting his silent contemplation as something other than outright rejection, because he barrels straight ahead.

“You know how the annual cultural show benefiting the children’s hospital is tonight?  Well, Safi’s performing this year, so I got VIP tickets for Iseult and me a while ago since we’ve always sat way in the back.  But this whole being contagious thing takes me out of the picture, and so I need someone reliable to fill in for me.”

Aeduan is... perplexed, to say the least.  “I am fairly confident that Iseult is perfectly capable of watching people embarrass themselves on stage for two hours without needing a chaperone.”

“True, but I’d feel bad if Iz has to sit through the entire show by herself, _and_ walk home late alone.  Safi’s in both acts, and she has to stay behind to break down the set.  They probably also expect her to go straight to the afterparty, which isn’t really Iseult’s idea of a fun Saturday night.”

He sighs, already regretting the question before he asks it. “I can’t be the only warm body you know, Leopold.  And what makes you think Iseult _wants_ to go with me?”

“Like you said, she’ll be fine on her own, but a mutual connection shared that you’d be sitting by yourself in the VIP section anyway.  So why not sit by yourselves _togethe_ r?”  He can tell Leopold’s not quite finished yet, and so Aeduan waits for what he’s sure will be the dagger plunged deep into his back.  “Anyway, you’re just acquaintances, so it’s not like you have some unresolved romantic tension going on, where being her plus one tonight is a plot device that advances the storyline in the rom-com of your lives.  Besides, you didn’t ask me why I thought _you’d_ want to go with Iseult, so it sounds like you’re not entirely opposed to the idea.”

Aeduan doesn't feel like arguing with a man whose mind was very clearly addled by illness, and so despite having several perfectly acceptable reasons for why he could (and should) decline, he agrees to meet Iseult outside Cahr Awen Hall in a few hours. 

He tells himself that he and Iseult are simply two people that would be walking to and from pre-determined locations in parallel, at approximately the same speed.  And as Leopold said, it wasn’t like it was a date or anything.

...Right?

 

 

 

Aeduan’s sitting on the bench outside Iseult’s entryway when she appears, wearing a peacoat over a all-black ensemble, and holding what looks like an impossible quantity of books for any individual human not named Kullen Ikray to carry, and still have full visibility ahead of them.

“Here,” he says, taking a heavy stack from her before she protests.

“Thanks.  Would you mind if we stop at the library first?  I need to return these today.”

It’s on their way, so he just shrugs, and lets her lead.  It’s not until he’s propping the door open for her that he takes a closer look at his cargo.  “So, are our university’s resources not to your liking?  It seems like you’ve managed to check something out from each of the other schools in our league.”

She’s quiet for a moment, as if she didn’t hear him, and he barely catches her response. “I send most of the money from my work-study job home, and the textbooks can get very expensive, so I try to get them through the interlibrary loan system if all our copies are checked out or on reserve.”  She takes the books back from him.  “You can wait out here.  It’ll just be a few.”

 _Thrice damn it._ Leopold had alluded that Iseult was on a merit scholarship that provided full financial aid, which Aeduan had forgotten until just now. A thousand thoughts race through his head: Should he apologize?  Did Iseult even know that _he_ knew about her family’s situation?  What if bringing it up offended her?  Would she be more upset if he _didn’t_?

“Hey.” He feels her hand on his bicep, shaking him from his ruminations. “I’m sure you’re working on solving every unanswered question that’s been asked over the last millennium, but we’ll miss the opening act if you keep standing there.”

He won’t mention it, he decides, and they walk together in silence until a dog suddenly darts in front of their path. 

“Sorry! Loops can get very excited.  Oh, hello Iseult! Aeduan, nice to see you as well.”   If the chair of the Nomatsi Language and Literature department was surprised to see two of what he assumed were her favorite students together, she hid it very well.

“Hi Professor Arlenni! Would you mind if…?” Iseult gestures to the dog, as if Loops was somehow eavesdropping.

“No, go ahead.  He probably won’t let me leave until you pet him.  And don’t be shy Aeduan, you look like you’re thinking about your canine companion back home. Impressive work on your midterm paper, by the way.  I look forward to seeing what you come up with the final.” 

Aeduan seizes the opportunity to crouch down, focusing on scratching Loops behind the ears as he considers his next move.  (He guesses that Iseult and their professor are discussing some  post-modern interpretation of Queen Crab, which if he wasn’t so preoccupied at the moment, should probably attempt to file away as reference for next semester.)

“Well, you two enjoy the rest of your weekend.  And stay dry! It looks like it might rain later.”

He and Iseult look up, wondering how their professor could possibly tell, but both thank her anyway.

 

 

 

They are nearing the entrance to the performance hall when he finally speaks again, addressing what he assumes is the mountain bat in the metaphorical room. “Thanks again, Iseult, for helping me with my lit paper. I’m sure it wasn’t the best use of your Saturday night last week.”

“It was fun actually.  I mostly only tutor math and science these days, so I like being able to exercise a different part of my brain.  And please thank your sister again for the signed edition.  It was very thoughtful of you -- the both of you.”

“It was nothing,” he answers, “Lisbet likes to know that people are reading the No’Amatsi versions as well.”  He’s holding the door open for her again, wondering if it’s the cold or _him_ that’s the cause for the slight color now in her cheeks.

But that thought is quickly forgotten as soon as she says, “If you want, I can help you with your final lit paper too.”

The words tumble out before he can take them back.  “I’m not sure I can keep repaying all these life-debts.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve been told I charge a very reasonable interest rate. And I’m sure that with all those pre-law classes you’re taking, you’ll be able to propose a mutually beneficial contract.”

He’s about to ask something he knows he’ll regret, when Safiya runs over to say hello before curtain call, and tells them that they’re both in for a _real treat_.

 

 

 

Aeduan’s grateful for the dark, since he’s confident his face is still burning after Safiya’s barely veiled innuendos, which Iseult apparently, had years of practice to ignore.  He had learned, in painstaking fashion, that their private writing tutorial at the coffeeshop had not been as clandestine as he thought, given that _Cam_ had been on shift that night.  (Lady Fate had favored him, however, since at least it wasn’t common knowledge that Aeduan had asked Iseult to stay behind for a moment after they’d run into each other at Prof. Arlenni’s office hours, so that he could gift her a rare book that he’d been carrying around for nearly a week on the off-chance he’d see her around.)

The pair of them are sitting in the front row now, where their seats at the end had already been reserved, He’s rolling his wrists when she nudges him with an elbow, leaning over to show him the program.

“They’re doing an act based on _Boots and Scruffs_ this year.  Too bad you have to pick a different text for the final paper. I’m sure Professor Arlenni would like to hear your thoughts on Raider King’s adaptation.  Hmm, I’ve never heard of that writer…  Oh, that reminds me!”

“Yes?” he says, still staring at the way her freckles dot her face like constellations, thinking back on the moment when Iseult had been reading through his paper, and they both realized their childhood selves had drawn inspiration from the very same source when it came to naming their dogs.

“I forgot to tell you earlier, but I thought the photo on your laptop was very cute.”

He freezes. Last month, Kullen had somehow convinced Cora to email him an old family photo of a young Aeduan and puppy Boots in matching Carawen monk costumes.  And, if that wasn’t enough, Kullen had proceeded to set it as the background and lockscreen for all of Aeduan’s electronic devices.  (Aeduan had been too busy lately to bother changing it, but was now adding it to his to do list.  Right after researching how to murder Kullen in a way that wouldn’t lead Ryber back to him.)

He’s tempted to ask Iseult if she’s referring to his puppy, or well, _him_ , but it’s at that very moment that Merik introduces himself as their master of ceremonies for the night.

 

 

 

Aeduan decides that transferring schools is probably the best solution, as he was going to have to look for two new roommates.  _And an entirely new group of friends._

Because while Merik performed in the cultural show every year, and Kullen, Ryber, and Tanzi were part of the crew, Aeduan usually negotiated his way out of committing to on-going, time-intensive responsibilities by offering to pitch in with easier tasks.  Like being an usher.  Ortailoring costumes. Perhaps even – as he had most recently done – agreeing to write a short skit based on traditional Nomatsi folktale about two dogs and their unbreakable friendship, as long as he was credited under a penname, if they even had to acknowledge him at all.

It was certainly _not_ things like bargaining for more time to evaluate all the possible escape routes as Safi shoved a microphone in his face, Merik heckled him to go up on stage, and Iseult looked at him... rather _expectantly_.  After all, they’d been reassured that it was purely _coincidental_ that he and Iseult had been selected at random to help their roommates (or in his case, soon to be _former_ roommate) demonstrate the Nubrevnan four-step.  In front of the entire audience.  Which happened to include faculty members. And his teammates.  And more people than the _n = 0_ that he would have preferred.

But then Iseult leans over, and when she whispers into his ear, he knows that Lady Fate’s knife has decisively fallen.  “Aeduan, what’s the worst that could happen?  _Mhe varujta._ ”

So, Aeduan finds himself under the spotlight, palm to palm with Iseult, going through the movements he’d learned in his early days at the military academy, and attempting not to trip her.  (If he happens to kicks Merik during this very public lesson, however, it’s _entirely_ by accident.)

_Trust me as if my soul were yours._

What’s the worst that could happen, indeed.

 

 

 

They’re halfway back to her residence hall when he finally summons the courage to ask.  “Is Leopold really sick, or is he expecting an award for Best Actor soon?”

She smiles.  “Unfortunately, yes, actually.  With the way he’s been sounding lately, I was worried I would get the flu just from reading his emails!  But if it makes you feel any better, Safi only asked me to start brushing up on my choreography a few days ago.”  Iseult takes a closer look at him.  “Wait, did you _not_ know this was happening?  It seemed like you and Merik had planned something ahead of time to make intermission more entertaining.”

He shakes his head.  “No, I regret to inform you that I’m not purposefully obscuring my mastery of the four-step to make Merik look better in comparison.  I’m surprised Safiya didn’t have you sign a liability waiver in case I sent you to the Emergency Department.  I’m sure some of the physicians from the children’s hospital in the audience were on standby though.”

Her nose twitches slightly.  “Oh, that’s a joke.” She laughs, and he likes the sound of it, wishes he could hear it more. 

Aeduan realizes that they’ve just passed the now infamous coffeeshop, and decides that it’s now or never.  “Iseult? About that contract.”

“Yes?” She’s looking at him again, in that way that unnerves him, and he takes a deep breath.

“I’ve thought about the terms. Would you accept payment in the form of—”  Aeduan never finishes the question, and takes it as a cosmic sign that he’s being spared from inevitable rejection, because the skies erupt in a sudden _downpour._

“Here,” he says, moving quickly, “take my jacket.  It’s waterproof.” 

She hesitates, but slips it on anyway.  “What about you?”

“Your friends didn’t tell you?  I’m on the track team.”

 

 

 

The rain has stopped by the time they’ve reached her courtyard, and they rest to catch their breath outside her entryway.

“In hindsight,” he muses, as he attempts to wring out his button down, though his undershirt is still soaked through, “we probably could have just waited it out in the coffee shop”

“I suppose,” she replies, her gaze suddenly very focused on the nearby flowerbed, “though then I wouldn’t have had the chance to learn why I should get a jacket like this of my own.”  He’s about to say that it’s a reversible article of clothing that she could pick up at any local Salamander’s Store, including the one that’s a bus ride away from campus, when she continues. “Thanks, Aeduan, I had a really fun time tonight.”

It suddenly feels much too hot, even though he’s outside and drenched from head to toe, because Iseult’s just returned his jacket to him, and he asks her to repeat the question that he hasn’t heard a single word of.

Her voice is soft, _encouraging_ even. “What were you trying to say earlier, Aeduan?  About the terms?”

Aeduan has the sudden realization that he _did_ catch Leopold’s flu through his thrice-damned phone, because the only thing he can think to do next is throw the jacket back at her, and say, “Keep it. You can return it to me tomorrow,” before immediately _running away_.

His heart’s still pounding when he steps into his apartment, and while he has a vague inkling that he might have set a new personal record with that sprint, it’s something else that he can’t stop thinking about.  Or, if he was being truthful with himself, _someone_ he didn’t _want_ to stop thinking about.

 

 //////////

 

 **v.**  
When Aeduan wakes the next morning, he is not surprised that he’s the only one out and about at this hour.  Kullen’s whiteboard has a message in his messy scrawl – “ _Came back late from after party.  Sleeping in. Please do not disturb_ ” – which meant Merik was probably still down for the count as well.  (There’s also the very strong possibility that after the events of last night, it’s all an elaborate ploy to avoid him, because while the Nihar rage is infamous, Aeduan’s temper could be just as bad, if not _worse_.)

When he returns from the gym, Kullen’s door is still closed, though he hears shuffling inside, and he assumes his roommate is now awake.  Merik was still snoring. 

He’s in the shower when he hears Kullen knock on the bathroom door. “Aeduan! I have to meet Ryber, but I strongly encourage you to check your email before you eat breakfast.  You'll thank us later!”

By the time Aeduan makes his way back to his room, Kullen’s already left, and Merik was apparently not waking up any time this semester.

 

 

 

Aeduan stares at his inbox for several minutes, fixated on the string of numbers in the subject line of his most recent unread message.  He’s wondering whether Safiya knows his address had accidentally autopopulated the To: field in this email she apparently meant to send someone else, because that scenario seems exponentially more realistic than the theory he was allowing himself to compose.

 So, when he finally opens it, he’s left in stunned silence.

 

>  “Aeduan,
> 
> I’m not sure what happened last night, but for whatever reason, Iz woke me up to ask if Merik could confirm whether you were (paraphrasing here) available, and more importantly, interested.
> 
> SHE HAS NOW SPENT THE LAST TEN MINUTES PACING IN HER ROOM, WEARING WHAT I HAVE SINCE LEARNED IS YOUR JACKET, AND I ASSUME YOU TWO HAVE PREVIOUSLY BEEN COMMUNICATING IN CODED EMAILS, BEAUSE SHE’S AVOIDING HER LAPTOP LIKE IT’S THE PLAGUE THAT’S STRICKEN NEARLY 25% OF YOTILUZZI’S CLASS.
> 
> So, although I’m still not super sure I retained anything we learned in stats, because this is my THREAD-SISTER we’re talking about, I’ll put it in simple terms.
> 
> Hypothetically speaking, if you were to call her at this number and invite her to brunch this morning, there is a 99.9% chance that she’ll say yes.
> 
> BUT THRICE-DAMN IT, IF YOU DO ANYTHING TO HURT HER, I SWEAR YOU WILL RUE THE DAY YOU WERE BORN, YOU BLIGHTED BLUEBERRY.
> 
> Cordially,
> 
> Safiya fon Hasstrel”

There was an accompanying stick figure diagram below, which Aeduan surmised was a depiction of Safiya attacking him with what looked like throwing knives (or swords, he couldn’t quite be sure), but the message from the domna was very, _very_ clear.

 

 

 

He was likely making a fool of himself in front of the other students wandering the quad, but as a significant portion of the undergraduate population had already witnessed his attempt last night at what Merik had euphemistically referred to as “honoring Nubrevna’s gift to the world,” if doing a few more exercises in the courtyard helped him dial the number he had saved to his phone, then so be it.

“Hello,” he hears after several rings, “this is Iseult.”

He breathes in, straightens out his spine.  He would play it cool. _A man is not his mind.  A man is not his body.  They are merely tools so that a man may fight onward._

“Thanks for the advice, but can you take me off your marketing list?”

Apparently, he was prone to making the same mistake twice. “Sorry,” he begins, “this is Iseult.  I mean --”

“Aeduan? Is that you? Did you get sick last night? Are you feeling alright?”

“Yes. No. I mean, yes, this is Aeduan.  I, um, well, I was in the area and you know, you still have my jacket. That I told you to return to me. Unless you want to keep it. Because I have others. Clothes, I mean.” For whatever reason, his mouth keeps moving even _after_ this point, and he’s not sure what he’s saying, but he knows he must be spouting   nonsense because in the last minute or so, Iseult hasn’t spoken. At all. The long pause that follows stretches uncomfortably into a prolonged silence, and after he attempts another hello, it sinks in with slow, mortifying horror that she’s already _disconnected_ the call.

 _Great_ , he thinks, _you’ve really ruined it this time, Aeduan._

He hears her voice before he sees her, and winces.  “I’d say that there’s a high probability you can still salvage the situation.” (THRICE. DAMN. IT.   Apparently, his previous debate team experience was useless, at least around her.)

He exhales and turns around slowly, finally facing her.  She’s just a few steps away from him, wearing _his_ Salamander jacket over a blue dress, and _smiling_.

“…How long have you been standing there?”

“I just stepped outside... but you should probably know that we’ve been watching you since you started your calisthenics demonstration.”

“...We?”

Iseult gestures behind her, and he looks up, only to see Safiya waving at him from their second story window.

He groans.  “You lied last night.  This is going to get worse, isn’t it?”

“Only if you’re allergic to goat, because that’s the best dish they serve for lunch at the borgha place we’re going to.”

 _He’s_ the one’s smiling this time.  “ _We are_?”

“Yes, unless you’ve suddenly decided not to be Aeduan again.”  She tugs on the sleeve of his old wool coat, ushering him forward.  “Now come on, maybe they’ll throw in some honey cakes on the house if you attempt to order everything in Nomatsi.”

“But I know how to order in -- wait, are you making fun of my tribe’s dialect, or just using me as a glorified packhorse to cart things around campus for you?”

“Well, it’s certainly not your command of language that I’m most attracted to.”

He stops mid-step, processing the _implication_.  “Did you just say --”

She’s looking down at the ground, but he can tell that her face, normally pale as the moon, is now a bright shade of red.

It’s only a few heartbeats before he extends his hand.  “Hey, Scruffs -- how about a truce then?  Let’s both promise _never_ to mention anything that’s happened in the last twenty minutes to any of our friends.”

“Deal,” she says, finally meeting his eyes and returning a firm shake.  Then, because it wouldn’t be _Iseult_ otherwise, she adds, “Alright,  Boots, let’s see if you can work your magic and get us dessert to go.”

 

 

 

In contrast to his feelings towards the vast majority of group projects, Aeduan was an unequivocal fan of honey cakes.  And of course, as Lady Fate would have it, the restaurant owner -- having tribal roots in Arithuania and finding Aeduan’s accent “ _simply adorable” –_ had not permitted them to leave her humble establishment without accepting a generous basket of freshly baked goods, _free of charge,_ which was now in Aeduan’s left hand.

He thinks Iseult might have said something like, “See? I told you so,” but if he’s honest, he’s only been catching every other fifth word for the past ten minutes, and so he’s taken by surprise when she abruptly stops them on the sidewalk, and turns towards him to place her free hand on his forehead. 

“Are you _sure_ you don’t have the flu, Aeduan?  I just suggested that we give all the honey cakes to Safi and Leo, and you didn’t even make a face in protest.”

He has a reply ready, right on the tip of his tongue, though he’s too distracted by the gentle touch at his brow to know whether he keeps his thoughts to himself this time: _“They can have them all.  I’ve found something even better.”_

Aeduan doesn’t catch how Iseult flushes at his remark, for two primary reasons:

>   1. A few blocks ago, when they’d been waiting for the signal, after he and Iseult apologized for brushing against each other for what felt like the thousandth time since that morning alone, she had gracefully slipped her arm through his own.
> 
>   2. Neither of them had yet to let go.
> 
> 


**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Sooz's response to a Witchlanders question about the main cast's courses/majors in a university setting: "Safi and Aeduan would end up grudging lab partners, and while he's at her dorm room working on a project... he encounters Safi's roommate, Iseult."


End file.
